Misinformation
by Kebinu
Summary: I hope this doesn't offend anyone. Sol takes on a bounty job to clear up a subject of longstanding confusion about him.


Misinformation

By Kebinu

I don't own Guilty Gear X, regardless of my own wishes. It's owned by Daisuke Ishiwatari, Arc Systems Co. and Sammy. Rest assured that if I ever DO own it, Dizzy will be my personal bitch faster than you can say "Roman Cancel."

_I need to get laid._

The hunter scowled a little bit as he pushed that distracting thought out of his head. He didn't have the luxury of allowing his mind to drift right now; he was working. And when you got into this kind of work, you found out quickly that those who couldn't focus couldn't stay alive.

He padded softly across the lawn, approaching the dark abode. Ochre eyes scanned the residence, looking for signs of security. None. Good, the information had been reliable then. A single lit window in one of the upper corners of the house betrayed an inhabitant. He couldn't say for sure whether that was to be his target or not… this would require some observation before he could make his decision.

A gust of wind sent his spiky brown bangs tumbling across his headband and down over his eyes. He shook it out. Maybe he _did_ look cool when his eyes were hidden, but it sort of made things hard to see. And his sight would have to be keen for this job. It was kind of funny; he didn't usually take a job for personal reasons. A big part of that was that he barely _had_ any personal reasons to rub a non-Gear out at all.

It took a lot to ruffle Sol Badguy's feathers.

The hunter scanned the side of the house. Possible to scale? Unlikely. The smooth vinyl siding would prevent him from getting a firm handhold. That would mean he'd have to use both hands, and he'd rather not hold Fireseal in his mouth. He swiveled his head and his gaze caught a large oak tree next to the house. 

Good. That would do just fine.

With frightening speed and agility he shot up the tree, sword in one hand and bark in the other, until he stood looking through the window. He could vaguely see a body moving inside at the far end of the room. Whoever it was sat at a desk, staring into a glowing computer monitor, hands dancing furiously over a keyboard.

The behavior was as expected, but he still couldn't identify the person. Was this his target or not? Would it be better to wait for another opportunity? He quickly scratched the idea of giving up. The last thing he wanted was another night to ruminate on exactly how pissed off he was at this person. The best never give up.

And he and everyone's mother knew he was the best.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what the person was writing on the monitor. If he could figure out what had just been written, he'd probably have the evidence he needed to finish the job. Only problem was, the person's head was blocking his view. He would have to sit tight for a few minutes. That was okay. When you've been alive 160 years, you develop patience.

Sol sat back against the trunk of the tree, readying his binoculars for an opportunity to spy. In the meantime, he let his thoughts drift to what he'd do with the rest of his night, after the job was completed. _I need to get laid_, the thought sounded through his head again. Which one of those obnoxious wenches should he give a booty call to? 

There was that Chinese ditz with the skimpy dress and the weird-ass hairdo. It'd probably be easy to get her in the sack. Only problem was, she seemed to only have eyes for that prissy French wuss. Maybe challenge her to a drinking contest and get her drunk? He'd built up quite a tolerance for the hard stuff in his many decades of life.

Or there was that one-eyed, one-armed Japanese girl. Kinda frosty and condescending, but she had a nice rack. He considered that for a moment, then waved the idea off. Once she found out he was a Gear, she'd try to kill him. Emphasis on _try._ He wasn't worried, but he wasn't spoiling for a fight tonight either. Forget it.

Maybe the hot little blue-haired halfbreed Gear with the wings? Maybe not… he had sort of kicked her ass a little while ago. And besides, that gothic Marylin Manson wannabe was still hanging around with her, acting like he was her damn father or something, and the last thing Sol was in the mood for right now was a condescending lecture from Testament, of all people.

The pirate girl was right out the door. Too young, too scrawny. Too freaking annoying. Not to mention utterly impossible to find. He could at least take a small amount of comfort in knowing she was probably harassing that self-important moron in the trenchcoat at this very moment.

That would leave the blonde with the morphing hair. Cold, but pretty. Nice figure, sexy Russian accent. On the other hand, who knows if she even liked men? Somehow Sol got the feeling that she might listen to the Indigo Girls more than Megadeth. Well, it couldn't hurt to ask.

Sol started, his ruminations on the women in his life being abruptly terminated as his vision sent a semi-urgent message to his brain that the possible target had moved and he had the opportunity to collect the evidence. He jammed the binoculars to his face, focusing them rapidly and zeroing in on the monitor. His mouth tightened into a tense grin as the data he had been looking for was revealed to him. Bingo.

The hunter stood up, gripping Fireseal tightly in his left hand, bent his legs and launched himself forwards. Just before he reached the point where the branch would become too thin to support his weight, he pushed off and soared through the air, crashing through the window and landing on one knee, steadying himself with his right hand. He stared at the carpet he had landed on, peppered with shards of glass, then lifted his eyes to glare at his target, a cocky grin on his face.

The target was, as he expected, a girl. She appeared to be between fifteen and twenty years old, but with girls you could never be sure. She'd gone white as a sheet when he crashed through her window. She glanced instinctively to her computer, then back to him.

Sol stood. "Interesting writing style you have there."

The girl was still speechless. She took a step backwards.

"But," he continued, standing up, his glare never wavering, "Would you mind telling me how I suddenly acquired urges to screw that sissy frog Ky up the ass?"

She somehow finally managed to talk. "Be… because… well, I just know it! When two guys are perpetually fighting and hate each other's guts, it's always just a cover to hide an intense homoerotic attraction! T-that's how I know!"

Sol took a single step forwards, chuckling as she flinched. "And exactly what made you think I was gay in the first place?"

She gulped. "Be… because… y… you like Queen?"  
  


He shifted Fireseal's position in his hand. "So did Wayne and Garth. What's your point?"

Her eyes suddenly started to sparkle. "It's… it's because… you two would look SOOOOOOOOO KAWAII together! I saw this pretty fanart of you guys with angel wings and lots of flowers and you were holding each other and it was all just so SUGOI! OMG! That's when I knew I had to write lots and lots and LOTS of slash for you guys because your game never gave you the chance to give it to each other in the Hershey Highway and—"

His toothy grimace cut her off as a red aura started to surround him. "Sorry. That answer's not good enough."

Judgment rendered. One rabid yaoi fangirl. Order: terminate with extreme prejudice. No mercy.

"NAPALM DEATH!"

"B-but… no!!!!"

Another one bites the dust.

Sol Badguy sailed neatly through the window along with the explosion his attack had unleashed. He landed softly on the grass and turned back to eye the smoke rising from the not-so-dearly departed slashfic author's room. He allowed himself a smile and chuckled, giving the house an emphatic thumbs-down.

"Sometimes, I wonder if these chicks even realize that if all the guys were screwing each other, no one would be available to screw _them_," he grunted to no one in particular. He slung Fireseal over his shoulder and turned, heading back towards downtown.

_I need to get laid_, he thought again, rummaging through his jacket vest for Jam and Millia's phone numbers.

~Fin~

Author's note: God, I hope this didn't offend anyone. But when 75% of the Guilty Gear fanfics I find are Sol x Ky slashfics, I get sick of it in a real hurry. Especially since Sol of all people is the one who always gets portrayed as the flamer. I mean, geez, girls, I don't know about you, but from a male perspective, Sol is one of the most masculine characters in fighting game history. I can't possibly see him doing that with ANY guy, much less Ky of all people. They have sort of been feuding and trying to kill each other pretty much from the time Sol left the Knights, in case you all forgot. When you put two men together who have a special duel song called "No Mercy" and who never communicate in any other manner than insults, screaming, obscene gestures and swordfights, I don't think hopping in the sack with each other is anywhere on their minds.


End file.
